In which Sherlock gets some Batman Pyjamas
by Luscinnia
Summary: A glimpse from the past when Sherlock still struggled with his addiction and Lestrade tried to help him.


Seven years ago.

Mid November and it was cold outside. He just talked Catherine out of her very ambitious plans to get a fireplace, when the doorbell rang.

The Lestrades usually don't have visitors at this time of the evening on a Tuesday. Catherine furrowed her brow and Gregory already knew who's face would appear when he went to open the door. He was relieved to be able to escape the senseless fireplace discussion and at the same time worried.

"Good evening, Sherlock.", he said a minute after he opened the door and the rain soaked and shivering figure in front of him didn't speak a word.

"Come in." He stepped aside and the still silent Sherlock slowly walked in.

Catherine moaned. "He is not going to stay here, Gregory. Not again!"

Lestrade provided Sherlock with a towel and made him sit down.

"Sweets, he has no place to go to, it is raining and damn cold outside...", she didn't let him finish the sentence, "We are not a shelter for... junkies and homeless!" And before he could even try to calm her down she already rushed into their bedroom and slammed the door shut behind herself.

"Cow...", came a slurred and muttered remark from Sherlock.

"You! Be quiet.", Lestrade grumbled. Just to add in a softer tone: "Or she will hear you. Need a place for the night?" Sherlock coughed and it didn't sound very well. "More than one night, I see."

Lestrade watched Sherlock for a while. The towel drabbed over his head, not in the faintest bothered to dry his dark hair.

He was painfully thin and hasn't eaten properly in days or even weeks. Lestrade thought about doing some researches about how long a human being can survive without food.

"30 to 200 days. In my case 30 are more likely." Sherlock said and Lestrade frowned. He wasn't used to this. "Pardon?", he asked. "You watched me. And what do you see? Someone too thin for his height and you asked yourself when I ate the last time and how long "a human being" can probably survive without food. The thought made you feel uneasy, hence the generalisation of "a human being" and not "How long can Sherlock survive without food." You are already attached, Lestrade.

And the answer is 30 to 200 days. 200 being a real extremum and probably only likely for overweight people."

Lestrade was a bit taken aback. He let Sherlock have a look on two or three crime scenes, but he was more or less quiet then. "Do you want something to eat?" Sherlock slowly shook his head.

"No. I'm good for the night." Lestrade felt a sudden anger and Sherlock looked up, a smug smile on his lips. "Now now, Detective..."

Lestrade was able to get along with the most unnerving people, but his patience wore thin tonight. He had never been a do-gooder and it was a mystery to himself why he let this junkie stay. He hardly knew anything about Sherlock and their start was really not ideal, but something caught his interest and made him ... care. And he was sure that Sherlock wasn't the kind of person to take advantage of this sort of kindness.

"Right. Bathroom is over there, kitchen second on the left. Don't do anything silly and have a good night then.", he said slightly grumpy. Sherlock stretched out on the sofa and covered his face with the towel.

The hardest part had always been to convince Catherine to let him into the bedroom. And this time she refused to do so. He always thought the "spending the night in the bath tub" was a stupid rumour out of some silly slapstick films, but his beloved wife proved him wrong this night and he got to learn that there are places more uncomfortable to spend the night. With enough towels a bath tub can be acceptable.

He found the living room empty in the morning, the sofa still slightly damp and an angry note of Catherine on the coffee table.

He tried to remember the times, when his wife and he didn't fight over everything. From the wrong brand of water to more private matters and what and where to eat dinner on a Saturday evening.

It was exhausting and it made Lestrade unconcentrated at work.

Out of a mood he made a detour on his way home. Whatever it was that made him do so... tiredness, lack of sleep or the slight pain in his shoulders from the night in the bath tub or maybe some sort of boyish need to get a revenge for the stolen police badge, Lestrade decided that he didn't want a damp sofa anymore and that Sherlock needed pyjamas.

This thought pestered him nearly the entire day. Actually Sherlock needed help more than pyjamas.

But he hardly ever had to deal with addicts and when he was honest with himself, he had no idea how to handle it.

He was surprised when he found immediately what he was looking for and he found himself feeling looking forward to the next time when Sherlock needed a place to spend the night away from the coldness of London's streets in winter.

The fabric was soft, but nothing too warm. He had no idea what Sherlock would prefer and he wasn't very keen to find out. They weren't friends.

He remembered the first time this poor sod showed up on his doorstep.

Lestrade had dozed off on the sofa, much to Catherine's displeasure when the doorbell rang and woke him up. Catherine was annoyed and couldn't be bothered to open the door.

It was Gregory who found the pale and ill looking Sherlock in front of him. "Mr Lestrade?" Before the very same could answer, Sherlock struggled with a violent coughing fit and Lestrade just made him walk inside.

Catherine left the room as soon as she realised what her husband had dragged in. She would yell at him two hours straight later, when Sherlock was gone again.

"I think, I should return this to you." He handed him his wallet and his warrant card. Lestrade took both with cold fingers. He wasn't even aware that his possessions had been stolen.

"Uhm, thank you", he just said and Sherlock smirked. "You are not very observant for a police officer. It was easy to sneak those out of your pockets. Better keep them at another place from now on. Oh and I kept the finder's reward."

Lestrade smiled upon the memory. The stolen warrant card became – much to the Inspector's distress- some sort of habit. Whenever Sherlock wanted him to know that he was annoying, he nicked it. And every single time Lestrade didn't notice the loss.

Lestrade's "revenge" however wasn't that subtle and sometimes he gained the impression that Sherlock never reckon it a revenge.

The next time "his" junkie sought shelter he was able to provide him with a brand new Pyjama. With Batman print. At least Sherlock was kind enough to look grumpy and offended.

"You are very welcome. It is flannel. Should keep you very warm.", he said with a certain satisfaction. And indeed whenever Sherlock wore the thing in future he never felt cold in his sleep.


End file.
